“I do not care,” he growled.
She smiled and trailed her finger across his brow and down his cheek. “We will save her and fix things and then we will leave this place for the wild lands. Just us two beneath the stars, the wolves howling in the night.”
“You will write your story while I hunt.”
“And we will indulge ourselves beneath the moon.”
“You are my fire woman.”
“You are my beautiful man.” She drew his long black braid through her fingers and kissed him before standing. “Work before pleasure.”
—
In the heat of day, they had prepared for the night, gathering a ladder, ropes, a blanket, and medical supplies. Their horses were saddled, needing only the girths tightened to be ready for a fast race out of town.
At the back of the saloon, they waited for dusk to fall and Mrs. Lamont to take action. They did not expect the noise that followed.
Women screamed, shouted, and guns were fired. Men shouted. Footsteps thundered. Etsi’s eyes went wide. “Go!” she whispered.
Ayatas raised the ladder to the window of number seven and ground the legs into the dirt to secure it. He raced for the window of the storeroom. Dove inside. His last sight of his woman was her rounded form climbing the ladder.
He came up in the dark and raised the scarf over his face to hide his identity. Pulled his knife and his six-shooter. He raced from the storeroom into the saloon. And he nearly stopped dead.
Mrs. Lamont and Mrs. Smith stood shoulder to shoulder with the schoolteacher and a man in a black robe. A priest. The women held guns on the saloon owner and three other men. “Shoot them! Shoot them!” the owner shouted. But the men with him could not decide what to do.
The priest shouted, “You have dishonored women! Repent!”
Ayatas sped up the stairs, his moccasins silent, his passage unnoticed by any but Mrs. Lamont. The gray-haired woman tilted her head at him, shouldered her shotgun, and shouted at the saloon owner, “We’ve heard that your doves are here against their wills! Drugged! Abused!”
Ayatas reached the far room and turned the knob. There were twolocks, and he had no key. He tightened his grip on the darkened bronze knob and drew on his skinwalker strength. The first lock broke inside with a harsh snap. The other lock was unsecured. He put a shoulder to the door and slipped into the dark.
Amandine was deeply drugged, tied to the bed, her breaths shallow, her face bruised and streaked with tears. Her scent was sick and broken. But he knew a woman could survive many horrible things and become strong again. His mother had survived, and no one called her a victim.
Etsi had cut the bonds on the woman and used the ropes to tie the blanket over her. Together they lifted Amandine up and over his shoulder. Etsi adjusted both their scarves so no hair and only their eyes would show. Ayatas drew his weapon with his free hand. Etsi drew her gun and the knife at her thigh. She raced from the room and down the stairs. He followed into the bright lights and the shouting and the sound of gunfire.
Halfway down, the saloon owner spotted them and raised his gun to fire. Etsi paused, aimed, and shot him. The saloon owner stumbled, screaming, a spot of blood on his chest beginning to spread. The smooth action, the lack of twice-thinking her actions, brought fierce happiness to Ayatas. But the owner was not dead. He lifted his gun again and this time aimed at the women gathered in front of him. He fired.
Mrs. Smith fell. Mrs. Lamont raised her shotgun and fired. His head blew back, blood and brains hitting the wall behind him. The saloon owner dropped. The other three men dashed away.
Ayatas and Etsi carried Amandine into the early night. Hoofbeats galloped away, one sounding lame already. “They’ll go for the sheriff and the ranch,” Etsi said. “Let’s get Amandine to safety.” They took her to the bakery. No one was there, but the door was open. Gently, Ayatas placed the unconscious woman on the small bed in the corner.
“We owe you.”
Etsi whirled, aiming at the door. But it was Mrs. Lamont. Etsi lowered the weapon.
“We all knew there were too many young women disappearing, most as they passed through. The sheriff blamed it on Apache, or panthers, or jaguars. Once a raiding party of Comanche, though Agua Caliente is a mighty long ways from their territory. And no young men disappeared.We—the women—knew something was wrong. But we didn’t know what to do, not until you came.”
“You’ll care for her?” Etsi asked.
“All of them.” Mrs. Lamont sat in the only chair, beside Amandine. “There’s five other young women. Been abused something awful. We’ll take care of them. Give them a place to stay.”
“The sheriff?” Etsi asked.
“Oh. I have a feeling he’ll disappear.” Her tone was cunning, her expression amused. “Mrs. Smith is securing his rooms and the jail cell, making certain it’s all locked up. One of us will stay there all night. If he ever shows up again, the sheriff’s out of a job. But you, well, you best hurry if you want to... finish your night’s work.”
“Thank you,” Etsi said. “We couldn’t have done this without you.”
“And wewouldn’thave done it without you.”
